


Fight the Friction

by idioticintentions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aged Up, Forbidden Love, Incest, M/M, No penetrative sex, explicit is because they touch peepees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10041722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idioticintentions/pseuds/idioticintentions
Summary: When Scorpius learns his father has been seeing Mr. Potter, he is furious. Then he realizes it is more than just fury.How long can he fight this before he breaks?





	

The Malfoy Manor is cavernous, even with the house elves skulking about every corner. Tinsel hangs like cobwebs. Baubles are clustered around bows like spiders with one hundred eyes. Albus watches one such clump cautiously. While he knows they are not charmed, he still has his doubts. Scorpius has a certain unpredictable humor.

One that Al normally finds endearing, but not now. Not when Scorpius is definitely throwing the muggle equivalent of a hissy fit.

"I don't understand!" he growls for the fifth time as they sit in the solarium, the sun casting golden light on their afternoon tea. Albus was able to pick one teacake off the plate before Scorpius exploded from his seat and began his pacing. Nothing has been touched since.  
Albus clears his throat and attempts to lock eyes with Scorpius. They are too wild to hold his gaze for long.

"Look, I think it might be a good thing. We'd practically be brothers."

"That's if they marry, Al," Scorpius collapses on the chaise lounge with patented Malfoy flourish. It's credit to the house elves that no dust is disturbed since the room is so little used. Al had heard that it had been Narcissa's favorite before her exile to France. Scorpius' father and mother avoided the room like the plague; Draco from too many memories of tea with his mother and Astoria because she no longer lived there. Last he heard, the divorcee was living it up in Amsterdam, chasing a youth stolen by a brutal war.

He sometimes wishes more distance had been afforded in his parents' divorce. Sure his mum tends to be off with the Harpies 8 months out of 12, but those that she is in London--a perpetual haunt of Grimmauld--he sometimes wishes she would find a place of her own in town. He can see how it hurts his father. She cheated first with that beater from Hungary; she likes to expound on the fact he was gay and that had been the first offense.

Now, though, his father is seeing Scorpius' father; apparently for awhile and only felt the need to give notice to their children when they came home for the winter holiday. Albus had been writing a letter to Scorpius about the good news when the Malfoy eagle owl nearly pecked him to death so that he read the letter attached to its leg. Scorpius' letter had been much less amicable.

"You know," Scorpius soliloquies, "I should have known. Last year, your father came by so much. It was under the guise to repair things and that he's handy, but I'm sure he was just _handsy_. Who do you think seduced whom? Did my father--heaven forbid--break things for him to fix? Or did yours convince him that the state of things just wouldn't do. Or maybe, in their mad throws of love making they intentionally broke things together so he could come back..."

Albus pinches his nose, pressing his glasses upward. "I do not want to think of my dad having sex with yours, thank you very much."

Scorpius crosses his arms and stares out the window. "I'm sure that's what they are doing now. Having sex. Having mad, wild, rabbit sex."

"You sound like a jealous girlfriend," Albus complains before he can stop himself.  
Scorpius' eyes widen fractionally and his mouth forms a small 'o'. Then he shakes the thought from his head, kicking his feet over the arm of the chaise and sinking into the cushions. "Of course not, I just want to know."

"Ravenclaw," Albus chides but smiles.

Scorpius smiles, too.  
~**~

Albus leaves before dinner although the invitation is offered ten times over by every house elf he passes and even Draco as he walks by the library. Briefly, he peeks in, and expects to see his own father hiding in some corner, disheveled from wild rabbit sex, but Draco is only sitting on the couch, reading. He sits with the same careless command that Scorpius does. He looks completely at ease while also entirely in control of every muscle.

"I really have to go. My dad wants to have a big dinner with all of us and Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermoine. I'm sure you and Scorp would be welcome..."

Draco gives him a beatific smile and places his book more firmly aside. "Thank you, Al." he frowns, as if looking for the words. "I think you're old enough...and you should know--not everyone took the news as well as you and Scorpius. Mr. Weasley I don't believe wants to see me. Not for awhile."

Al gives a tight nod. He hopes Scorpius can hide his displeasure because looking at the sincere, small smile Draco gives him is enough for him to want everyone to be accepting. Mr. Malfoy has been through a lot. He has been through everything. And he has worked so hard to be esteemed at the Ministry, not by his name, but by his work. As his father told him multiple times: Mr. Malfoy is the best cursebreaker that they have had in years.

"I understand," Albus says whisper-quiet. "Hopefully you will be by soon. Take care."

"Take care, Albus."

He disapparates outside in the garden, the smell of lilacs chasing him through the spin.

Draco is alone in the library for another two minutes before Scorpius comes in. He sits surreptitiously in the overstuffed armchair by the fire. Draco watches him and returns to his book.

"When did it start?" Scorpius asks, straight nose wrinkling as if he smelled something dirty.

Draco feels a dagger pierce between his ribs but keeps the mask in place. He was worried about this: Scorpius is so open minded but the Ravenclaw in him leaves little for open questions. Draco knew interrogation was coming. He was sort of hoping it would be later--tomorrow perhaps when he no longer felt like he stripped his soul for all to see. He yearns for Harry in that moment and his steadying presence.

"In the summer, at the Governor's ball." Draco sighs and places the book on the table. He will not be returning to it any time soon. "We had been working on a case for awhile, but it's at the ball we realized our...mutual attraction."

"He was just divorced," Scorpius bites.

Draco startles at the venom. "Do not take that tone with me," he states, the picture of calm with fire under the surface. Scorpius' breath catches for a moment as Draco's namesake rises up in him before diving deep once more. Scorpius wishes it to return.

He wants his father angry and yelling in his face. He wants him trembling with rage, prepared to strike but never daring. Scorpius wants him to lash out so that his words cut so deep they might cut this jealousy right out of him,

It's too much to ask for. Draco smiles a sad, tight smile. "They had been separated for over a year by then. Due to the Quidditch season, the paper signing did not happen until that June. I know it seems sudden, but it wasn't. I would--I would never."

Scorpius knows he never would. Draco is so good now that he is his own man. Scorpius admires every inch of that man and his gaze slips to his father's lips as they tremble around soft words. "It wasn't serious at first. A few nights together. Then you all went to school and we would meet for lunch or dinner. And, I think we were dating without realizing it. I know I fell in love without realizing it."  
Scorpius feels his pale skin turn red. He feels like a peeping tom and hates that. Draco stands and crosses the room to him. His hand is as warm as fiendfyre as it ruffles his hair. "I will always love you," Draco promises and kneels before him. His shoulders are bracketed loosely by his son's knees. His elbow brushes Scorpius' inner thigh as he reaches up and up until his warm fingers bring Scorpius to face him.

Jealousy is a gross and vicious monster that steals Scorpius' words and breath. He watches his father for a moment too long; those quicksilver eyes hold his and the mercury of love poisons his veins in an instant.

"I will always love you Scorpius. You always come first."

"I know," Scorpius whispers. He rearranges so that he is drawn further back, so that they no longer quite touch. He smiles roguishly. "Just make sure that you cast silencing spells before you guys 'love' each other, yea? I don't need to hear it from my room."

Draco colors and then laughs. It's brilliant, rich, and gets Scorpius drunk like a heady wine.

Fuck.

He has it bad.

~**~

While Draco had harbored secret desire for Scorpius to be a Slytherin, he tended much more towards Ravenclaw. Scorpius had even gave a meager protest to the sorting hat when, with barely a second between McGonagall's hands and his head, it had announced him as Ravenclaw. It argued back that while he had some cunning, he was Ravenclaw with his thirst for knowledge. As Scorpius got older, he learned that thirst for knowledge was both his modus operandi and his coping mechanism. So when he has the realization that he might just have a crush on his father, he begins to research.

If he is rifling through the library, there is hardly time to think of other things. Especially not his crush nor the fact this is not actually a crush, but something more sinister like sincere 'like' or even love. Sure, he loves his father, but does he _love_ him? He pauses in his page turning of the marriage registry of the Blacks--checking for precedence--to think if that may be the case.

He had always been a daddy's boy. Astoria would sometimes become forlorn that whenever he needed to reach out, he would reach for his papa. But he was young then. He was young, too, only ten, when he caught his father masturbating. He had side along apparated for the first time with Astoria from Diagon Alley and wanted, immediately, to tell him. He burst open the double heavy doors to his father's bedroom when the scene froze.

Even now, Scorpius does not need a pensieve to remember every lurid detail.

Draco must have always known he was gay, or at the very least enjoyed that sort of thing, since he was stretched out on the bed, hips raised by pillows with a magicked dildo moving in and out of his tight ass. One hand was clenched along headboard to steady himself against the relentless thrusts. The other was pulling on his dick, twisting on the upstroke, ring flashing in the low candle light.

Scorpius was mesmerized. His father's face contorted and lost to pleasure, color high on his pale cheeks. His chest was covered in a sheen of sweat. His stomach spasmed with each thrust. And his voice, oh his voice, sounded like silk as he let out a slow moan, shoulder blades crashing together as he arched and orgasmed.

When he came down, the world no longer static, Draco yelled. And there was that dragon. It breathed fire in its words and the smoke of its disappointment chased Scorpius down the hall to his room. He cried while his mother spoke sharp words to his father about scaring him and how dare he do that!

The flimsy excuse that they had come home early was not accepted. Draco slept on the couch for a whole week.

On the fifth night of his exile from the bedroom, Scorpius snuck down to see him. His father was fast asleep, long body curled on the sofa with far too many blankets piled on top. The fire burned low. The library felt like a sanctuary, a safe place, and Scorpius took quick steps to his father. He curled into his chest under that mountain of blankets and pressed his face into his father's collarbone. He tasted sweat.

"Scorp?" Draco asked sleepily.

"I'm sorry I walked in on you and mom is mad. I didn't mean to!" The dam burst and Scorpius was crying. He had been feeling so awfully guilty. Both for getting his father in trouble and for also wishing it happened again, this time without the interruption.

He remembers feeling sick as Draco wraps his arms around him. "I'll give you the birds and the bees tomorrow," he whispered in good humor,

Scorpius woke up the next day in his own bed, alone and tired, aching for his papa.

At ten, he knew.

Now, at 18, he wishes he could go back and stop his ten year old self from opening that door. Or maybe his twelve year old self when he got over the fear of masturbation and did it--when he realized to get it up that all it took was picturing his father just like he had seen him that one time (or his father, in general, if he were honest). Or maybe he didn't have to go so far, maybe dip back just two years and punch his 16 year olf self when he tried to pull that bloke at the muggle bar.

He had looked so much like his father and Scorpius called him daddy and he just thought...

This could be enough.

But it's not! When Draco was married to Astoria. When he was single. Then it was enough because maybe his father wasn't gay. Maybe his father didn't want anyone at all. But now he was with that damned war hero and Scorpius can't even be mad because Harry is already like his second father.

Fuck. He wants to be angry.

But he can't.

He's just tired.

The floo makes a loud whooshing sound and soon Albus is standing just off his right elbow. "You've been ignoring my owls," he accuses, squinting behind fogged glasses. He wipes them clean before kneeling beside Scorpius. He picks up 'rules of engagement for the Modern Wizard' . "Planning on courting someone?" he asks and then notices the theme of the ear marked pages. "Some guy?"

Scorpius huffs. He was having his existential crisis in peace and now Albus had to come here and be a dose of bitter reality. He just wants to wallow in peace. He says so.

Albus shrugs, unperturbed. "Who broke your heart? This can't be about your dad and mine. I mean, you love both of them, don't you?"

Scorpius tssks and turns away, cheeks giving away his embarrassment. Albus smirks. "It's alright if you carry a torch for my dad. I'm pretty sure everyone does."

"Do you?" Scorpius' voice is soft but not hesitant. If anything, it's pleading and Albus feels his stomach plummet.

"He looks just like me," Albus tries to lighten the tone. "It'd be like being in love with myself. I'd have to be quite the narcissist for that."

Then he spies another book, shut but partially obscured by notes. ' Family relations in the wizarding household; the case for love'. "Do you? Carry a torch for um, your dad?"

"No," Scorpius says with a hiss of breath. _Pretty sure I carry a whole burning village for the man, not just a torch_. There is a silence that follows. The one that haunts his house like a ghost.

Albus awkwardly pats his hand. This sort of tact is more of James' thing than his. All he can offer is a therapy session that features heavily probing questions, which, judging by Scorpius' sad eyes, would not be appreciated at the moment. All he can manage, rather matter of factly, is: "Well the two of them are in a relationship and I know you Scorp, you wouldn't try to break that up."

And that's where Albus is wrong--more Gryffindor than Slytherin--because Scorpius would. And he will.

"Thanks," he murmurs and begins to rise. He offers a hand to Albus so that he can get up as well. "I'll keep that in mind.

~**~

The idea to break them up completely disapparates when Scorpius sees Harry and Draco in the garden later. His room affords a rather nice view, so he can see them sitting on the bench by the rhododendrons. Harry is holding Draco's hand and speaking softly to him. Draco smiles and give him a kiss, unbidden. Harry returns it playfully before returning to his story.

They are casual and easy in their love. It is also the most happy Scorpius has seen his father in ages. In forever.

He decides this is not for him to ruin with his sick fantasies. Instead, he orders a catalog from Flourish & Blotts about Healer programs abroad. Maybe some distance will do him good. Maybe distance will make him better.

Or, at the very least, it should ease some of the pain in his chest he gets every time he sees his father smile.

~**~

There is talk of them moving in together. The Prophet assumes that Harry will move to the Manor, but Scorpius knows better. Draco wants to burn the manor down; he has wanted to do it as soon as his father received the Dementor's kiss. But Scorpius needed a home. Draco, despite his complaints, also needed a roof over his head. But with Scorpius going to Australia for a healer program, he sees little issue in burning the place to the ground. If he makes it look like an accident and gets insurance money, all the better.

His father is going on about this devious plan across the breakfast table from him. Scorpius pushes his eggs around his plate. He never eats in the morning, but Draco wants to keep their routine and 'spend as much time with him' before he disappears to another continent. Scorpius appreciates the gesture, just not right now.

Not when they're talking about destroying the home he grew up in. He feels like he's being erased.

His fist slams on the table and the china clatters. "It's not just your choice!" he bellows and rises.

Draco is too startled to stand. If he did, then the difference in stature would be more clearly noted. While Scorpius inherited his father's height and sharpness, he is rather broader in the shoulders.

He was not a seeker in school, but rather a chaser, all muscle and bone, lean but not thin like his father. Sometimes, he thinks--and god he hates himself when he thinks this--he can take his father if he wanted to.

He probably wouldn't even fight. Like right now, he is not even fighting for his ancestral home.

"Did Harry tell you to burn it?" Scorpius hisses and steps in closer, hand on the table and the other on the arm of Draco's chair. His eyes are slate and cut sharply into the mercury of Draco's. He tries not to be poisoned by the small fear swimming there. "Did Harry put you up to this?"

"No," Draco answers thinly. "I just--I--Scorpius," he takes a breath and reaches out. He had said his father never touched him and he wanted to change that with Scorpius. But Scorpius sometimes suspects Draco is touch starved and he feels the burn of the long fingered hand on his bicep. It feels like a brand. "You don't know what happened in this mansion, or at least didn't live it. It was horrible. We--" he swallows thickly and his fingers tighten into corded muscle. Scorpius bites back a groan. "We tortured people here. In the dungeons," he gestures above the table where a gaudy chandelier hangs low, "in this room. It would be better to burn it because the walls are poisoned."

"Am I too, then? If I grew up here?" Scorpius accuses.

Then Draco hesitates and Scorpius storms off.

~**~

"I don't know what to do," Draco says in the study, his voice somewhat distorted through the extendable ear. Scorpius is crouched in the hall, by the turn, so if Draco or Harry were to step out, he could theoretically make a quick get away.

"Shh," Harry hushes and follows with a soft kiss that sounds like a sigh.

Draco's voice is wet with tears. "Something is eating him up. And he--you know he has these fits--and god, he asked me today if something was wrong with him and I couldn't answer. I should have said no. I should have--"

A sob, another sigh of a kiss. Scorpius trembles, legs cramping as he crouches.

"There is nothing wrong with him. Or you," Harry promises. A stronger, firmer kiss. It's wet and dirty and Scorpius stirs in his pants. "He may get ahead of himself, but he's Ravenclaw. They can be as bold as Gryffindors sometimes. "

"I see the way he looks at me sometimes," Draco murmurs. Scorpius imagines it's into Harry's throat, where his head is tucked as he is held. His stomach turns at the thought. The acid doubles as the words sink in. "I can't tell if he wants to hit me or not. Do you think he hates that I'm gay?"

"No, no no," Harry comforts. "He is probably just confused. He's going through a lot--his dad is in a new relationship, a gay one at that, and he's moving abroad to study. Plus, it's right before NEWTs, you remember how that was?"

"The year we had the war or the do-over?"

Harry swallows thickly and Draco hiccup-cries. "I just miss him. It's like he's not even here."

Scorpius retreats, tucking the extendable ear into his pocket. He feels guilty, for pushing his father away. He resolves to have the rest of spring break to be notably drama free. He makes his father's favorite chocolate torte as an apology. Watches him eat each bite, savoring it and licking his lips. Scorpius presses a hand over the front of his trousers, the heat of his cock undeniable, but he wills it away.

Not now, he promises, and he smiles at Draco. Draco smiles back and his cock jumps against his palm.

Not now. But maybe soon.

~**~

Scorpius is Ravenclaw and he needs to know. Draco has already begun boxing up the manor, promising to leave it a year so that they can make a decision with cooler heads. Scorpius is going through the hell that is his NEWTs. His thoughts keep straying to his father, living like a kept woman at Potter's house. He is happy because this is what his father wants but he is also so pathetically jealous that he cries during his Charms exam.

Scorpius is Ravenclaw and he needs to know, so when he gets home for summer break and that one week of freedom before he moves to Australia, he sets his plan in motion.

Getting Draco tipsy was necessary. He needed his wits about him, but also needs his guard down. Scorpius disguises the ruse behind a private celebration of his seventh year concluding. They drink three bottles on wine between them in the library, the air filled with the scent of crisp Sauvignon Blanc and Hydrangea.

They are sitting side by side, sprawled on the floor by the couch. Their arms are a warm line against each other and Scorpius leans into his father. Draco wavers for moment, before adjusting so that he can loop an arm over Scorpius' shoulders. He turns his head and presses a kiss into his son's tousled, platinum hair, "I am so proud of you," he whispers.

Scorpius wants to lunge, but knows going too quickly will scare Draco off. He assesses the position and decides tucking his head to Draco's neck is a good course. His warm breath drifts over this father's collarbones, exposed now that he undid his top three buttons during the second bottle of wine. "Thank you, dad. I'm proud of you too."

Draco laughs, doubtful. "Of what?" he asks and his father turns into his warmth. Scorpius' hand plays with the bottom hem of his shirt, finger tips brushing the skin just underneath every once in awhile.

"Everything. You. Just you. You're my hero."

Draco's breath catches. The next sounds almost like a sob and then he is being tugged in tight, stumbling into his father's chest, the hand that was playing with his father's shirt planting between Draco's leg for balance. His thumb brushes his crotch and Scorpius imagines what's beyond that cotton cage. He knows what is there and he aches for it already.

"I love you," Draco confesses over and over again, kissing his head in sloppy pecks. ALlright, so the tipsy goal was overshot. His father appears to be drunk.

Scorpius, for his part, does not nearly feel drunk enough.

But he has to know. So he lifts his hand and presses it to Draco's inner thigh, thumb now very much touching Draco's crotch. He can feel the line of him, half hard, and Scorpius thrills. He draws back from Draco's slackening embrace, taking in his father's startled, unfocused expression. He gives Draco a flirty smile, heart hammering a mile a minute.

"I love you, too."

Then his hand switches so he cups his father's cock and massages it. He presses forward, lips touching the bolt of Draco's jaw and licking the bone that protrudes there. Draco is frozen and Scorpius tests his luck, kissing a line across his cheek, by his nose, the corner of his mouth, and then on his lips. His tongue seeks entrance but it's then Draco seems to come alive.

"Scorpius," he breathes pulling back the only inch the couch at his back affords. Scorpius chases him, stealing away his next few words. He climbs into his father's lap, strong thighs bracketing his legs, hand now moving to capture his father's wrists and tongue doing devilish things in his mouth.

Draco groans and bucks, his arms fighting against Scorpius, but he never brings his teeth down on Scorpius' tongue. He takes that as invitation enough and begins a slow grind down. He moans at first clothed contact. "I want you to fuck me," he divulge's into his dad's hot mouth. "I want you right here," he whispers and pulls Draco's left hand--his wand hand--behind him to rest on the swell of his ass.

And how broken they must be for Draco to whisper "yes."

With his consent given, Scorpius releases Draco and allows his hands to begin his work on the shirt that needs to be much more undone than a mere three buttons. Draco begins kneading the meat of Scorpius' ass, thumbs digging into his hips and guiding him in his rocking. The friction turns almost unbearably good and Scorpius draws away, groaning, as he comes in his trousers.

Draco stares at him in wonder, a blush creeping over his chest and up his neck. "Fuck," is all Draco says before leaning forward to attack at Scorpius' mouth again.

They divest themselves of their clothes. Draco manages a trick of magic that pulls the fur rug underneath their bodies. Scorpius immediately rolls on his back, placing one foot flat and raising his right leg to hook it around his father's back. He drags him in until their cocks burn beside each other in twin heats.

His hands seek out to memorize every inch. The three, deep scars across his father's chest. The starbusrt cluster on his shoulder from a curse after the trials. The raised marks of love bites Potter must have left. He bites into one on Draco's chest until his father yells and pushes him away. "Fuck." he rubs his chest and looks like a pouting five year old. "that hurt."

Scorpius rolls his eyes. "Come on, old man, live a little." He surges up and kisses that spot over Draco's fingers. He laves and massages with his tongue.

Scorpius stops when he feels something warm and wet splash on his back. He pulls back again and sees his father is crying, dirty and ugly and raw. "Shit," he whispers.

And Draco draws back, falling on his haunches and erection notably flagging.

"You're my son," he eventually chokes out. He drops his head into his hands and he's wearing a new ring on his left hand. Scorpius' stomach drops.

"And you're engaged," he accuses.

Draco startles for a second and then examines his left hand as if it doesn't belong to him. Then he smiles, sadly, and whispers. "We were going to have the wedding when you were back. But yes, we're engaged."

It's time for Scorpius to be angry and he stalks out of the room. He collapses against the wall outside the library, unable to make it any father, and he realizes he cries the same as his father. God, why are Malfoys such ugly criers?!

"I love you," he whispers into his burning palms.

The floo whooshes and Scorpius knows Draco ran.

He leaves the next day for Australia. Albus owls him his disappointment at not saying a proper goodbye. Draco sets a wedding date of June the next year and Scorpius lies that he absolutely, under no circumstances can make it. He sends hydrangeas in some sick hope that Draco will think it means something. Because it does. It does.

It's a long, lonely three years.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic because I'm a sucker for Scorco. I don't want them to end up together, but I love the poison of their love. Excuse me as a I go take a a scalding shower to wash away my sin.


End file.
